Gingerbread cookies. They were acceptable. A little dull, not quite enough sugar for modern tastes, but maybe that quaintness gave them a place in society. He licked the accumulated dough around his teeth, halfway holding back a smirk that, with all the detritus, would be disgustingly impolite. He likened himself a connoisseur, too emboldened by his quest for truth to hold back his venomous tongue on Granny's Ole Recipe, lovingly crafted by his mother, who he was now imagining in granny knickers...

And that sort of ruined the daydreaming, if his mother's scowling face weren't about to seal the deal anyway.

"Good lookin, and good cookin. Just how do you do it, mom?"

What could a mother do but smile sheepishly and turn away? Jake had been gifted with all the typical talents of a shithead.

But he was also observant and thoughtful. Maybe too much so, because it often left him on unsettling lines of thought. Because the second he evaluated his mother on any scale of physical looks, he was suddenly aware of her objective characteristics. Messy, blonde hair. If he saw it on someone his age, he'd think they were cute and reckless. Blue honest eyes that belied a terrible liar who was also terrible at lying.

Sheepish smile.

He wasn't attracted to his mom. But now he was thinking of her as a girl, and somehow it was a sad thought.